no sparks
by sarsaparillia
Summary: Just a gasoline fire burning in the dark. — Rei/Jadeite.


**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
**dedication**: to Mars, always and forever.  
**notes**: yo, this was one of two ficathon entires. sup.

**title**: no sparks  
**summary**: Just a gasoline fire burning in the dark. — Rei/Jadeite.

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Jake was three days into nicotine withdrawal the first time he met Hino Rei. The shakes were still in the process of going away—the third time that year he'd tried to quit, and still not going well.

It was autumn and rainy, the cold only beginning to seep into his bones.

It was mostly an accident.

At first, she was only a woman walking towards him in the rain; as she passed she was a flash of pale serene skin, dark hair, darker eyes, and she did not matter to him. She was just another girl with an umbrella on the street, heading home. She could have been anyone, and consequently, she was no one at all.

What changed his mind was the sudden flare of gold-fire light and the hiss of flame against wet air.

He flipped directions, backtracked as fast as he could.

She walked in slow, measured steps. The sway of her hair was a hypnotic thing, in perfect opposition to the sway of her hips. Jake told himself over and over that he was not staring.

"Gotta light?" he asked, trying for casual.

She looked over her shoulder at him. There was a funny little smile on her lips—some strange mix of faintly amused and faintly disgusted. Her eyes were a purple so dark they were nearly black.

She was so beautiful, Jake found he couldn't breathe.

(The cold shock of nostalgia was like a punch in the gut. He knew this woman. He knew her, and once he had perhaps loved her and he—he didn't even know her name.)

"Sure," she said.

A silver lighter appeared between her fingertips, and she flicked the tip to send the flame flaring a second time. Jake only managed to catch the tail-end of it, but it was enough. He huffed life into his first cigarette in three days, and exhaled slowly through his nostrils.

"That is a disgusting habit," she said.

"It is," Jake agreed. "You don't smoke?"

"No," she said. She did not smile.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's an expensive lighter for someone who doesn't smoke."

"It was a gift," she said. She pressed the lighter to her lips, softer than a kiss in the dark, and Jake thought that maybe she was hiding a downward quirk to her lips. Her face was a teardrop against the rain, and something in his chest burned with it.

The smoke curled around them both before it drifted away, clinging to his wrists and her eyelashes. It was a melancholy day. Jake breathed in.

"Who from?" he asked on the exhale.

"A princess," she said, still soft. She lowered her gaze to stare down at the intricately-wrought silver, and now she did smile. But it was a sad thing, and he had to wonder if she was ever happy. It didn't look much like she ever was.

A siren sounded in the distance, sharp with warning. The woman started violently, and dropped the lighter to the floor.

"Oh," she said, and bent to retrieve it.

Jake was already there. He swiped it from the ground, and offered it to her.

"Here," he said. "Uh. I'm Jake."

"Thank you," she said. She bowed once. Her hair slipped over her shoulder in a long dark sheet, and Jake was sure he imagined the shower of crimson sparks that cascaded along its length. They hissed when they hit the ground, and he was sure he imagined that, too. "But I need to go."

Desperation hit him hard in the gut. She couldn't leave yet, not yet, he still hadn't found what he was looking for—"Can I see you again sometime?"

She dipped her head. "I live at the Hikawa Shrine."

She turned, and started to walk away.

"What's your name?" he called after her.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Rei," she said. "Hino Rei."

And then she turned a corner, and was gone.

Jake stared at the place where she'd disappeared for a long time. There was something about her that was just out of his grasp, something he wanted like burning—she was just a gasoline fire burning in the dark.

He thought about following her for half a second.

No, he chuckled to himself. She'd never forgive him if he did—she'd always hated being followed. The last time he'd followed her, she'd nearly fried his eyebrows off.

Jake stopped.

How did he _know_ that?

He shook his head.

He must be going absolutely mad.

—

From around the corner, Rei watched the golden-haired man walk away.

Her stomach turned, and her lips thinned. She knew that gait, and Gods, she'd hoped and hoped to never have to see it again.

(That was a lie. The dreams had come on so strong, and Mars had missed him so very much. The part of Rei that belonged to that ancient deity ached to run back to him and melt into him. It had been a very long time.)

"We have a problem," she said into her compact.

Ami's voice came back over the radio, crackling with static. "What is it?"

"It's him," Rei said. "It's Jadeite."

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_fin_.


End file.
